How I Want House to End
by TheDarkLindsey
Summary: I was watching the fourth to last episode, and this idea came into my head. Enjoy! Slash, mild language!


How I Want House to End

4/30/12

"House, stay with me!" Wilson begged, starting to see tunnel vision. House squeezed his best and only friend's hand, trying to keep the younger man with him.

"Wilson, don't you dare try to get away from me just yet. We have been through much worse, so don't you dare quit on me now! Going through Hell and back is going to take its toll, but I swear if you die on me now, I will never forgive you!" House said, trying to get his oldest friend to answer him. Wilson struggled to open his eyes, trying to do what his friend was asking.

"Greg, I'm tired. I want to sleep now," Wilson said, his eyes feeling heavy.

"James, I. . . I love you!" House said, feeling like he was about to lose his other half of himself. Wilson's eyes immediately shot open at this response.

"You. . . You love me? Seriously?" Wilson asked, surprised. Just as he asked that, he knew that Greg was deadly serious. Here he was, lying on Greg's couch, getting his body pumped full of lethal drugs that would probably kill him, and his best and oldest friend was telling him that he loved him. Life was crueler than he had imagined and ever dreamed possible.

"Yes, seriously," Greg said, holding both of Wilson's hands now, feeling how cold they were.

"How long?"

"About since. . . After about your second wife. I saw your pain, but I was too in pain myself before that to notice your own. I have suffered from pain that you now know, and much worse than my own. While you watched me suffer from my leg, I then watched you suffer in pain after your wives left you. While you think I'm an ass and much worse, I think you are the best, kindest and most sensitive man on the planet. You are an oncologist, and one that tries to help people with cancer through their deaths. I am a diagnostician, trying to stop death from happening. We both know what it is like to lose patients, although you are more likely to lose them.

"James, please don't leave me all alone. Without you, my life isn't worth living. Without you, I don't know love, or friendship. If you die, I die. I'm not ready for you to die, and neither are you.

"James, please don't leave me again. I need you," House said, crying now. Wilson saw the tears, and immediately reached out to wipe them away. He felt tears running down his own face, as well.

"Greg, that is probably the sweetest and most loving thing I have heard you or anyone else say to me. I don't want to die, either, but if I do die, don't you dare commit suicide or get someone to kill you. I don't want that from you. Please, promise me you won't kill yourself or do anything of that nature if you die," Wilson said, not caring that his tears were making a spot on his shirt.

"James, if I die, then I don't need to kill myself or have someone to kill me. If you die, I will die from heartbreak almost as soon as I know you are dead."

There was silence, and then. . .

"I love you too, Greg. After all of my wives, after all of everything I've gone through, you have been there for me. I don't want that to change if you are just saying this because you think I am dying."

"James, I would never do that do you," House said, almost breaking down into uncontrollable sobs. Wilson saw this, and tried to hug House. The tubes in his arm got in the way, however, so he only managed about halfway to him before he had to lay back on the couch again.

"Greg."

"James."

House leaned forward, and gently pressed his lips against Wilson's. After a few seconds, they pulled apart and just looked at each other.

"Don't die on me, James."

"I'll try not to."

"Promise me."

". . . I promise."

Hours later, Wilson woke up and blinked the crude out of his eyes. He groaned and looked over at House, who was in a nearby chair, asleep. Wilson smiled weakly, and lay back on the couch. Everything would change from here on out, and Wilson was glad; he was tired of living the lie of his life. He wanted to change things between them.

Wilson had apparently fallen asleep, for the next thing he knew, House was gently trying to shake him awake, trying to see if he was alive or not (he's a doctor, yet he does things like he isn't. So typical of House). Wilson groggily opened his eyes, and met the cerulean blue of House's.

"I kept my promise," Wilson said.

"You aren't out of the woods yet, but we are getting there."

"Yes, we are."

More silence.

"James, I have been taking care of your sick ass for the past 48 hours or so. Please tell me that you are going to at least let me take some Vicodin, because you have been hogging it the past day or so," House said, sounding like a little kid begging for a cookie. Wilson just chuckled at him.

"Be my guest. Have as much as you need. God knows you need it."

House gladly popped open the Vicodin top, and shook about three or four into his hand, then swallowed them down quickly, dry. Afterwards, he looked a bit better.

"Time to clean, I'm afraid," Wilson said, sitting up unsteadily.

"You going to help this time? Or just lie on the couch some more?" House teased.

"Help, of course. But first. . ." Wilson pulled House into a deep, hot kiss. It took minutes for them to break apart. Both men were smiling.

"What was that for?"

"Taking care of me. I'll give you more gratitude later. First, let's clean this place up; it smells of sickness and worry," Wilson said, taking the tubes out of his arm and starting to try to stand up.

House grabbed him and helped the shaky man try to stand up.

"I think I can live with that," House said, smiling happily.

Later that night, Wilson kept his promise to House. Afterwards, they lay happily in each other's arms, content about how things have turned out.

Two short years later, the two men were married, and lived happily ever after.

Fin!


End file.
